Soli Deo Gloria
by meldahlie
Summary: "We gave those troublesome giants on the frontier such a good beating last summer," said King Caspian on the Dawn Treader, "that they now pay us tribute." What, exactly, had happened the summer before The Voyage of the Dawn Treader?


**Soli Deo Gloria**

"We gave those troublesome giants on the frontier such a good beating last summer," said King Caspian on the Dawn Treader, "that they now pay us tribute."

What, exactly, had happened the summer before The Voyage of the Dawn Treader?

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 _A/N: I don't usually put a disclaimer. You all know Narnia is not mine. But for this fic, the battle plans aren't mine or CSL's either. So I here put on record grateful thanks to Generals Fairfax, Cromwell, Lambert and Monk. Good chaps, all of them. I don't think they'll mind :)_

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1\. Answers

"Send them in at once!"

The king spoke. Oscuns the chief Faun-in-waiting bowed himself out. A tense, expectant silence filled the council chamber of the newly rebuilt castle of Cair Paravel. Everybody remained as if frozen. Trufflehunter the Talking Badger even sat with one paw stopped half-way up to hide a yawn where he had not been finding the afternoon's scheduled business very interesting.

Lord Drinian, who had been the afternoon's scheduled business, was still standing. He looked about uncertainly. As joint admiral of Narnia's newly restarted navy, he had been reading out a report on the progress of the new ship under construction in Glasswater – the one being built on purpose for his Majesty's planned voyage to the east in search for the seven lost friends of his father. Drinian recognised that not everybody was interested in ships. Trufflehunter was not unusual among the Beasts in yawning when Council matters concerned such things. But it was more than a little disconcerting to have the focused attention of much of the Council of State of Narnia one moment – particularly that of the king – and the next moment to be so completely forgotten nobody even told you to sit down.

Drinian looked round the Council table faun had only said 'The embassy has returned.' Nothing more. Yet here they were: King Caspian; Doctor Cornelius the Lord Chancellor; Trumpkin the red dwarf; Habbanik the black dwarf; Ventius the faun; Trufflehunter the badger; one of the three sons of Glenstorm the Centaur (who all looked alike to Drinian, though he realised that was remiss of him). The whole Council of State of Narnia – one and all staring at the door as if their lives depended on it.

Surely it didn't? Though, Drinian admitted to himself, being down at Glasswater and engrossed in the minutiae of ship-building for the last month, he could have missed almost anything happening. Rack his brains as he might, he couldn't remember any embassies being sent out before he had left for Glasswater.

That was irrelevant. Here and now, the situation was growing ridiculous. If an important embassy was about to come in, he, Drinian, could hardly be standing there like a Bulgy Bear sucking its paws in the lists. But-

He didn't like to speak or clear his throat into that intense, waiting silence. Drinian twitched his papers. No-one noticed. He shuffled his shoulders. No-one noticed. Drinian sighed before he could stop himself (no-one noticed) and gave a final, despairing glance up the table at the King. It was no good. For all King Caspian the Tenth had sworn his coronation oath to take this voyage to the East, he had at the moment forgotten it – Drinian – the new ship – even seafaring at all – completely. He too was staring at the door like one turned to stone, apart from his sword hand, which rested on the table slowly clenching and unclenching as if he was not aware of it.

Drinian gave up. If the king and everybody else were so concerned by the returned embassy from wherever, and so unaware of him, they would not notice if a man took the liberty of sitting down without permission. He was not a member of the Council of State, but a chair had been provided for him earlier as the 'Scheduled Business.' Drinian drew it out from the table, wincing at the noise though it seemed to escape the notice of everyone else and, hesitantly, sat. The half-finished state of the new ship would obviously just have to wait.

It was true that the King had quite forgotten Drinian and his report, but after a few more moments, perhaps slightly roused from his thoughts by the noise of the chair, he noticed the unconscious movement of his hand. Caspian very carefully stopped the clenching fist, and laid both hands deliberately down on the table before him. The corner of his mind which was not still staring at the council chamber door noted wryly that he hadn't realised his sword hand felt as anticipatively anxious as the pit of his stomach. Two years' reign had given him a confidence in movement and decision for the everyday affairs and problems of Narnia, but this – this was a somewhat bigger problem.

 _Bigger in every sense..._

Ruling a country means solving its problems. Narnia had grown rapidly into the habit of bringing its problems to the king. They brought their love and loyalty too, which Caspian felt amply made up for some of the problems being a bit odd. The Talking Rabbit who kept getting puffins in the back bedrooms was one which caused Caspian's jaw to ache terribly from keeping a straight and solemn face. Sometimes he had to give up the struggle and go for a walk in the orchards, where his fits of laughter might not be overheard. Other times, the adjusting of the Old and New Narnians to live beside each other made him to want to go for walk where he might tear his hair out in despair. Hence, Caspian had really not known what to expect when a damp and agitated Marshwiggle had arrived at court just under four weeks ago.

 _Less than four weeks ago? It seemed like months since Oscuns had left the room._

With marshwiggles, Caspian still felt a little uncertain. Most Narnians, New and Old, seemed to be generally glad he was king, and acted like they were pleased to see him. Then there were the few Telmarines who had been too sceptical of Aslan to take up the offer of a new home, and always looked decidedly displeased to see Caspian. That simply meant he needed to smile pleasantly at them and know where his bodyguard was. But the marshwiggles took such a dour and gloomy view of the world. It was extremely disconcerting to spend half an hour in conversation with a Wiggle whose mouth had turned down in the corners from the moment they saw Caspian, only to then be informed (in a doleful tone) that they were _"right glad to see him, and wished him well, they did."_

 _Wished him well...?_

Caspian realised his sword hand was clenching again. For the Wiggle at court had brought no such idle, fripilaceous felicitations. Since the Telmarine invasion of Narnia ( _'for ever, your majesty, and that's a long long time')_ the marshwiggles of the northern marshes had been squeezed between Telmarine raiding parties from the south and the threat of giants from the north _('and I wouldn't have you think we're downhearted, your majesty, seeing as that's just the way life is, but it_ _does_ _get a bit gloomy sometimes')._ But while the Telmarine threat had now been removed _('and I'm not saying we're ungrateful, your majesty, for it's none too cheerful for a wiggle to find himself slaughtered and his wigwam burned down, that it isn't'),_ the problem from the giants had grown greater. Occasional sightings of giants up on the moors beyond the river Shribble that marked Narnia's northern frontier had turned into daily sightings, and then hourly. The giants had been seen in the gorge, in the river, across the river, and then attacks had begun. Wigwams trampled, dykes smashed down, and marshwiggles – well, 'missing', for want of further information _('and I'm not wishing to paint a dour picture, your majesty, but things have got that bad this winter we can't get down to the river at all, and a wiggle can't take a wink of sleep at nights without wondering if he'll be there in the morning, or dead. And not much odds if he do stay awake, your majesty, seeing how big they are')._

 _Why did the embassy not come yet?_

The wait was growing intolerable – rather like the giants. But Doctor Cornelius had suggested that the giants might not be as aggressively threatening as they appeared. If they remained ignorant of the changes in Narnia, "and news can take a long time to travel in the wild lands of the North," the giants of Harfang might merely see an abandoned, un-patrolled territory.

Caspian feared this was rather wishful thinking. He also suspected he was not alone in thinking this. Doctor Cornelius' comments had been followed by Trumpkin muttering such a _sotto voce_ string of alliterative pairs of expletives Caspian had been obliged to reprimand him. But his Lord Chancellor had been right in pointing out diplomatic courtesy should not vary with the height of those you dealt with. He would have sent an embassy before taking further action if there had been Calormen raiding parties across the desert. Hence, an embassy had been dispatched to Harfang three weeks ago. Whether the swiftness of their return was good news or ill – Caspian sternly forbade his mind to speculate.

 _Why did they not come?!_

Certainly the embassy had been sent with the finest and fastest of horses in Narnia, and all of them would have ridden like the wind, whatever the outcome. For the few previous embassies he had sent out, Caspian had very carefully chosen a mix to represent all Narnia. A centaur, dwarf, raven and one man had taken his salutations to King Nain of Archenland. But to the giants – even trying his hardest to think magnanimously of them and their raids across the frontier, Caspian had been unable to banish the idea of Talking Beasts being mistaken for legitimate game. Half a dozen of his staunchest Telmarines had seemed best, to be further backed up by collecting a couple of Wimbleweathers as escort when they reached the northern border.

He had woken every morning since hoping the Marshwiggle's comments about giants eating men were only wiggle gloom. In itself, therefore, that the embassy was back was a relief. No-one had eaten them. But what message had they brought? And how was it taking them so long to come through the castle?

Finally. Noise approached the council chamber door. A tapping patter of faun hooves, a rumble of voices, and the unmistakeable jingle of spurs. Caspian's heart started to drop even before Oscuns opened the door again and a file of dusty, weary-looking men still in their riding gear stopped at the foot of the Council table and saluted him. Successful messengers do not hurry into the king's presence with the dirt of the journey still upon them.

Oscuns bowed. "The embassy, Your Majesty!"

Caspian nodded in acknowledgement and then turned to incline his head in greeting to the six men. "In the Name of the Lion, we are glad of your return. What of your news?"

The six men looked among each other before Glosian the chief ambassador stepped forwards. "Your majesty," he said simply, "the news is ill."

Glosian stopped as if the news was such that he did not even wish to repeat it. Caspian gestured desperately for him to continue. Again, that strange glance among them before Glosian went on.

"The giants of Harfang received us without initial hostility. But they do not in the least deny their involvement in the attacks on the marshwiggles, nor are they ignorant of the changed state of Narnia, nor the position of the border. Contemptuous would be a better word." Glosian's expression grew yet more closed at the apparent thought. "Your Majesty, we had the misfortune to witness the aftermath of one raid as we rode through Ettinsmoor. Twelve wigwams crushed and six marshwiggles missing. By the time we reached Harfang, the event was a matter of common knowledge and open boasting. To our remonstrances, they simply say they will go where they please and do what they please and that – that they have no regard for Caspian King of Narnia or any mythical lions he might believe in."

This time, Caspian knew he was not alone in his feelings. Trumpkin's alliteration was so loud it made Doctor Cornelius jump, and the two words he had chosen to pair together were not such as should be repeated.

But Glosian had not finished. "I do not exaggerate in saying we feared for our lives on the return journey. It was well that our horses were swift. And-"

Glosian took a deep, deep breath, as if he had saved the worst until last. It seemed forever to Caspian, as the embassy looked yet again one man to another, and the whole Council of Narnia, as if by one signal, frowned. Even Drinian's bushy sea-farer's eyebrows knitted together.

"Their king's parting remark was – was that if this mythical lion was anything of what we spoke of him as, he would look after his own people and defend his own borders."

There was utter silence. Then Caspian, King of Narnia slammed both his fists on the table. "So! Then we are at war!"

Silence was replaced by uproar. In the angry babble of voices, exclaiming, protesting, questioning, Doctor Cornelius somehow lost his glasses and so could not find his Lord Chancellor's gavel to rap for order. A plaintive cry of "My glasses! My glasses!" did not have the quelling effect of a sharp rap for quiet.

 _"Your Majesty! – Mythical! – War! – Diplomatic courtesy! – The frontier! – Giants! – due consideration! – my glasses!"_ The mingled voices swelled ever louder, and Caspian lost his patience. In Council, he did not of course wear his sword, but his dagger did not leave him. The dwarf-wrought golden hilt made an effectively silencing bang on the table.

Every eye turned to the King. Caspian thrust his dagger back into the scabbard and hoped his voice would not shake nor betray his anger. This was not a time for rash and angry decisions – nor his words been spoken in rash anger.

"We thank you, Glosian, all of you, for your service and your courage. Aslan has obviously guarded your steps homewards, though we doubt the giants of Harfang will recognise it yet. As for your news, we are of course, at once at war." A silent ripple seemed to run through the faces before him. Doubt? Anger? Uncertainty? Surprise? A combination of all? Caspian pushed all such considerations to one side in his mind. There was only that one course of action. "We will not stand to see our borders ravaged and the name of the Lion insulted. It may be that Aslan will be pleased to do something Himself, now the giants have put their contempt into words. But until then," he continued, remembering High King Peter and the second battle of Beruna, "it is up to us to do something. There will be a council of war tomorrow."

Caspian rose. There was – until that Council of War – nothing more to be said. Besides which, it looked as if the hubbub might break out again if they remained in council one moment longer. He looked around the table, and then nodded. "Gentlemen, I bid you farewell for the moment. Oscuns, if you would see our ambassadors well fed and rested, after their trying journey."

Oscuns, straightening up from hunting for Doctor Cornelius's glasses, bowed at once and hurried towards the door. Glosian and his fellows bowed too and turned to follow. Caspian nodded again to the Council and turned towards the smaller door at the back of the chamber, which led out to the small ante-chamber and the passage to his own Royal study. He could feel the uncertain questioning eyes of each and every one of them upon him. For a moment, just for a moment, it would be nice to get away and think.

"But your Majesty-!" The words were over loud in the silent chamber, but Drinian ploughed on as if he could not help speaking. "The ship! The voyage! Your Majesty's vow for the seven lost lords?!"

Caspian turned back. It wasn't a question of his decision. It was an echo of his own disappointment, just starting to throb in his chest. Not this year, either, then – that promised journey to keep his vow to Aslan and find his father's friends. Somehow, in the very moment of its forming, it helped to hear someone else share that new sorrow. He managed a smile.

"Lord Drinian, I took the oath to sail and quest for my father's friends once there was peace in Narnia. We do not have peace while any creature invades Narnia and speaks thus of her King above all Kings."

Through the ante-chamber, along the passage, into his study. Caspian simply shook his head at the questions of the various fauns-in-waiting along the way, and shut the door firmly behind himself. No, he did not want anything to eat or drink, or anything fetching or carrying, or anyone summoned or any message taken. The news of what he had said in Council would spread fast enough. And – Caspian recognised it was just the least cowardly – he did not want, at the very moment, to see it when it did. To see Narnia, in those who made up the royal household at Cair Paravel, learn that after less than two whole years of peace, they were once again at war.

Just for the moment, he did not want to see it. Their faces! The worry that would show! Or disappointment! Or even, and maybe worst, confidence! Confidence in him, as their king!

Caspian cast a glance round his study. It was only his fancy, but the very books and chairs and walls even seemed to be looking at him as all Narnia would look! He crossed the room in two strides and shoved open the door to the terrace.

No, the terrace would not do, either. Anyone coming to his study to speak to him, as Doctor Cornelius was all too likely to do, would simply follow him out. And the same for the lawns: either they were in full view of the terrace or he would be into a less private section, where the main castle windows looked down and anyone might see him. He crossed the lawn as he had crossed the study, forced open the little wicket gate and plunged into the cool and shaded shelter of the orchards beyond.

Perhaps it was their sheer age, perhaps it was something lingering from their miraculous rearrangement at Aslan's command after the War of Deliverance, but there always seemed to be some especial peace lingering here in the orchards. It was cool and green and quiet beneath the trees. Caspian had thought he would come in here to think but, for how long he knew not, he simply wandered. Up one row, ducking under the branches to wander back down another, his mind somehow cool and green and free of thought.

Eventually, the quiet seemed to form itself into a word and Caspian heard himself say it. "Peace." There was peace, here in these orchards of Cair Paravel. And Narnia, by his command, was now at war.

Caspian cast a glance back to the small part of the castle walls he could see through the tops of the trees. It shone in the sunlight. Had the news filled every corner yet? Had it started out into the rest of Narnia, like ripples from a stone tossed into a pond?

Tomorrow – tomorrow it would. Tomorrow he must call a Council of War, this time in the full state and authority of a king within his castle, not a fugitive prince in a clearing in the woods. Battle plans, musterings, armies and marches – and an enemy more unknown than Miraz.

Caspian stopped and stared up at the great towering trees. Between the Council meeting and his wanderings out here, the afternoon seemed to have passed. The bright golden light of evening lit the tops of the trees, making the ground below seem even more dim and green and cool by comparison. Such old, old trees, planted by the four kings and queens themselves in the Golden Age. Trees which had moved themselves at Aslan's command out of Cair Paravel's gates and into a triumphal avenue before his coronation, so that despite the lack of roof and the ruinous walls, he, Caspian, might be crowned king as a true king of Narnia in the Great Hall of Cair Paravel.

Not quite two years ago. Caspian reached out and touched the low-spreading branches of a pear tree. He was king of Narnia – and now he must take this peaceful land of Walking Trees and Talking Beasts into war?

"Aslan?" said Caspian uncertainly into the quiet. "I- I wasn't a very good general, you know. We only won because of High King Peter, and that because of Doctor Cornelius having found the Horn."

No, that wasn't right.

"I'm sorry." Caspian shook his head. "I know. We won because You sent King Peter – and came Yourself – and guided Doctor Cornelius to the Horn, and me to Trumpkin and Trufflehunter, and Trumpkin to their Majesties – oh, all of it." Caspian held out his hands in appreciation. "I do know. You put it all together – and now I'm king. Now I'm king," Caspian repeated, running his fingers through his hair to the circlet of gold that was his crown. "And I know You said the fact I didn't feel sufficient to be king meant that I was – but I still wasn't a very good general. We only won because You sent King Peter."

Caspian sighed, and walked on round the pear tree, holding on to its low branches one by one, like a child holding its nurse's skirts, or a dancer in a Great Chain – a Great Chain like the one Queen Lucy had described, dancing around the Lion.

Around the Lion, around the Lion...

"Aslan!" Caspian gasped out in sudden, desperately angry frustration. "They said you were a _Mythical_ Lion! _Mythical!_ "

There was silence in the orchard. Perhaps those old trees, perhaps even the ancient walls of Cair Paravel, were shocked at what the giants had said. But it was not that sort of quiet Caspian was listening to. There was – no answer.

Nothing. Silence. No word, no thought, no answer from Narnia's King above all Kings.

Caspian stood and waited. Silence, silence, silence. Not even the wind moved, nor the least leaf. There was only his own breathing, his own sudden sigh. Caspian bowed his head down. "Aslan?" he asked, almost as quietly as the orchard. "Have I been hasty?"

The green leaves on the low branch before him didn't move. Even so low on the tree, the branch was full of tiny fruit where the blossom had fallen a few weeks ago. It would be a good harvest. Caspian looked slowly up the tree. It would be a very good harvest this year, if the weather was kind over the summer. The whole tree was laden to the topmost branches that towered above him into the sunshine – as towering above him as a giant would be.

He must take Narnia to war against giants? Not one giant, not even half-a-dozen like the Rumblebuffin clan, but many?

But otherwise...

Otherwise was crushed wigwams and trampled dykes and dead marshwiggles – and giants boasting and mocking and defying.

"Aslan?" Caspian repeated. "Is this – am I right? Doctor Cornelius will, not argue, but he will hope there will be some other way. Glenstorm will stamp his feet and urge me to war. What do You want me to do? And-" He cringed, but the question was there in his mind and it needed to be said. "And _how_ am I to beat giants?!"

"Your Majesty!"

A small voice from behind him, as high in tone as it was small in stature. Blinking as he jerked his eyes back from the sunlight to the shade, Caspian swung round in pleasure. "Reepicheep!"

The chief of the Talking Mice of Narnia bowed solemnly at this greeting, and then drew his rapier and held it out hilt first to the king. "I understand we are at war, your Majesty," he said earnestly. "I come to offer your Majesty our swords."

For a moment, Caspian stared at the fine, dwarf-made miniature rapier, offered in all seriousness to his hand that was much too large for it. And then quite suddenly, despite himself, he laughed.

The Mouse drew himself up in dignity. "Am I to understand-" he began, rather fiercely.

"No, No!" said Caspian hastily, dropping to one knee to put himself in comfortable conversation range – and also skewering range, a corner of his brain wryly noted. "I wasn't laughing at you, Reepicheep. Not at all! I thank you for the pledge of your sword." Caspian touched his fingers solemnly to the hilt of the rapier. "It is my honour to accept it. I was laughing because-"

He hesitated, but Reepicheep would surely understand, even if he currently looked highly suspicious of the king's mirth. "I laughed," said Caspian seriously, "because I have just been walking up and down wondering before Aslan if I was doing the right thing taking us to war, especially against a foe so much larger than any of us. And I thought I had no answer – until He sent you."

"We are Your Majesty's to command," Reepicheep filled in, as he re-sheathed his rapier. "Yours, and the Lion's. He does not measure worth by inches."

"I know," said Caspian. "That is exactly it, Reep. It doesn't matter how few we are, or how much smaller than the foe even the largest of us are, if we go out in His name and His cause."

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A/N: My apologies for the delay in posting this: FFn has not been letting me upload anything! Any oddities in formatting are due to the run-around I've had to use to get it up now...

And the plot bunnies have been so frustrated since Sunday, they have eaten all the cookies!


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